


Daughter of Tarzan

by lolathatch



Category: Disney - All Media Types, Tarzan (1999)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Class Issues, Coming of Age, Disney, Edwardian Period, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Gen, Lessons in Sophistication, Sequel, Starts getting romantic at Chapter 15, Trauma, i've had this idea since middle school, that typical disney heroine stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:35:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 14,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23264821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolathatch/pseuds/lolathatch
Summary: Annabel Jane Porter has spent her entire life in the jungle with her mother and father. Until one day, a revelation from her father's past calls her to England and she is thrust into a world of secrets. With new friends to help her, Anna will have to call upon her life in the jungle to shape her future in high society. This story is an original continuation of Disney's Tarzan that borrows liberally from the Burroughs' mythology.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 13





	1. Surface

**Author's Note:**

> I've been workshopping this fic in my head for a long time. Like, since 2008. I've never had the nerve to put it into writing until now. Hope you enjoy it.

She was running. Actually, she was being chased. And it was getting closer. Had she ever run so fast in her life? The leopard was faster.

She could feel the tightening in her chest. Her feet, suddenly heavy, forcefully hitting the jungle floor with each step. That moment of awareness that comes when you know you’re not going to make it. She fell to the ground and woke up with a start.

Anna was safe, in her home. As in her dream, she had fallen to the ground. Or here, out of her hammock and onto the floor of the loft that functioned as her bedroom.

She inched her splayed body forward to the edge of the loft and peered down below. Table. Kitchen. Parents’ bed. Pictures on the wall – some were her mother’s drawings, others old, weather-worn photographs of solemn-looking people that neither her mother nor father knew. And one they did.

Nobody else was home, thankfully. She didn’t feel like explaining to either of her parents why the nightmares still happened. Her mother would make a fuss. Her father would probably take it as a sign that he needed to teach her how to defend herself against leopards. Again.

Truthfully, Anna didn’t have the energy to deal with either of them. Something about her felt _off_ lately. It wasn’t just the nightmares. It was almost a frustration – as if the feelings she’d been keeping inside since she was thirteen were bubbling to the surface.

But she was sixteen now – why were they still there?

She pulled herself up off the floor. She figured she had to show herself. It wasn’t quite midday; the sun was creeping through the house’s wooden slats, reflecting its stripes on Anna’s skin.

Maybe she’d finish reading a book today – she was on her second read of Jane Austen’s _Persuasion_. She didn’t understand all of it, but she could always ask her mother where Lyme Regis was and what it looked like. She picked up the worn book that had been placed on the empty barrel next to her bed. The inside cover bore her mother’s handwriting: _Property of Jane Porter._ Anna had hastily added her name, which in actuality was only one extra name to her mother’s.

_Property of Annabel Jane Porter._

Her own large, blocky handwriting stuck out like a sore thumb against her mother’s dainty calligraphic work. She supposed it was better than her father’s. Come to think of it, she had never seen him write anything. He didn’t have much use for it anyway. Neither did Anna, but she still practiced.

She knew she could find her mother – possibly her father – at Grandad’s camp. She tried to shake her mind of the bad dream. _Everything is fine_ , she told herself. _Fantastic, even._

As she left the treehouse through the nearest window, she tried to forget how she wanted to either scream or cry. Maybe both at once.


	2. Focus

“Anna!” Jane said cheerfully, “Was _wondering_ when we’d get to see you today.”

“Hi, Mum,” Anna said. “Just felt like resting is all.” Not a little white lie, just an omission.

Jane’s eyes fell on the book. “And how are things with Anne Elliot? Will Captain Wentworth propose this time?”

Anna laughed. She looked at Jane and couldn’t help compare their looks. Their hair was similar in texture but different in colour. While both of her parents had brown hair, Anna’s hair was a rusty blonde. She studied her mother’s eyes, round and blue. Her eyebrows two thin, perfect curves. Anna’s eyes were her father’s, a deep green. She had inherited his intense, penetrative gaze and stern brow.

Anna longed to look more like her mother. She did have her mother’s rounded features, her nose slightly upturned like Jane’s. Jane’s skin was pale, like the women in the books Anna would read. Another way in which Anna took after her father. The women in her books were small, dainty, ladylike. Anna was tall, stocky and bronze.

“Now if only I could find my _Sense & Sensibility_ book,” Jane said, interrupting Anna’s thoughts. “I’m sure it’s around here somewhere,” Jane focused her gaze on a nearby tent. Grandad’s camp always functioned in a state of controlled chaos. Anna had been assured that it had been that way since the Porters arrived, but she had learned the hard way not to leave a book behind if she wanted to read it again. Grandad was always tossing things aside without regard to where he left them. It was amazing he got _any_ work done at all.

“We could even read that one together, it’s been so long since I’ve read it! What do you think?”

Anna didn’t respond. She looked off into the surrounding trees. Something was in there, creeping. Her heartbeat quickened.

“Anna?” Jane said. “Are you listening?”

Anna’s head turned back to her mother. “Oh,” she said. “Uh-huh, I’d like that.”

Jane chuckled and shook her head. “How you two can still listen to me with your head turned,” she said to herself.

Anna forgot about the movement in the trees, and her mind turned to finding a place to finish her book. She opened it to the last page she had marked by turning the corner down, and began to read as she walked. Her concentration didn’t last long, as she felt a jolt in her chest. Her father had crept up on her silently and placed his hand on her back, startling her.

She turned to look at him. Tarzan of the Apes. He stood tall above her. His eyes, sometimes impenetrable, had a glint of playfulness.

“You lost focus,” he said. “You saw me.”

Anna waved the book in front of him. “I was reading,” she said. “I was _focused_ on that.”

“You need to be on your guard,” he said.

“Oh, Tarzan,” Jane said. “Let her be, she can worry about that later.” She came around to give him a kiss on the cheek.

Anna looked at her parents. _Do I ask them?_ she thought. The last time she asked, things went badly. But she remembered what her mother had said – _three more years_.

It had been three more years.

But maybe it was better to leave things as they were.

_Finish your book first,_ she thought. _Then decide._

She always found a way to procrastinate.


	3. Head Start

Anna swung silently through the understorey. Waiting. _Focused_.

She could see the movement below. She latched onto a nearby branch, pulling herself up on top of it. She twisted her legs around it, holding herself in place. She kept her eyes on the target.

_Wait_ _for the movement to stop_. She slowed her breaths and took in as little air as possible. She willed herself to be still as she lay flat atop the branch. There was a pause. Her chance. She loosened her grip and slid forward. Her hand reached for the nearest vine, using her body’s momentum to slice through the air.

Anna loved the split-second before finding the ground. The moment she knew that she would land but had yet to do so. A moment of both freedom and stability.

Her feet touched the forest floor, followed by her hands. Perfect silence. Now for the kill.

“YOU’RE IT!” She shouted merrily as her hand hit Tula’s back.

Anna darted back up the vine before Tula could turn around. She took a hold of another vine wrapped around the branch she had just leapt from and swiveled to hang upside down while the gorilla looked to find the source of the tagging.

“Up here!” She shouted. “I’ve been _waiting_ to get you!”

The gorilla looked up to see her friend hanging.

“Not fair!” Tula protested.

“ _Extremely_ fair,” Anna said with a laugh. “You keep evading me, I take matters into my own hands.”

“Well if it’s so fair, come down here,” Tula said. “Or are you scared?”

“Me? Scared? No way,” Anna replied with a false bravado. “I’m actually quite comfortable up here. Anyway, I wouldn’t want to take you by yourself. You and Manek together, now _that_ would be a fair fight.”

Tula chuckled. “That can be arranged.”

As if on cue, Manek emerged from the trees behind Tula.

“Did you get her?” He shouted to Anna.

“Yup! Didn’t see me coming!” Anna shouted down.

“You two were in on this?” Tula said, looking pointedly at the other gorilla.

“Maybe,” he said.

“Well,” Tula said. “I told her to come down here if she wants a fair fight.”

"Tula you’ve already suffered a crushing defeat today, I don’t want to keep subjecting you,” Anna said in false concern.

“Oh, come on, Anna,” said Manek. “We’ll give you a head start.”

With that Anna flipped herself right-side up and let go, landing on all fours. She shifted her weight forward, propping up her hands so her knuckles rested on the ground.

“Can’t argue with that,” she said and took off. “Ten seconds!” she shouted behind her.

_A head start_. She always got one. She learned early on that she wasn’t as fast or strong as the rest of the family. Unlike her father, she had the benefit of always knowing why she was different. And like him, she had the benefit of being able to use her smaller stature to swing and surf through the flora. On the ground was a different story.

She could feel her friends getting closer. Anna sped up, knowing it would only buy her a couple seconds at best.

Suddenly, the trees quivered and the ground shook.

_BWAAAAAAAA._

The three friends froze. The sound had shaken the birds from their trees as they began to circle around the canopy and caw.

_BWAAAAAAAA_ , again.

Anna had heard that sound before. Her breathing tightened and she wordlessly took a hold of a vine as her two friends looked on fearfully. She latched onto a nearby branch and began to throw herself up the tree until she was at the top, high above the canopy. The birds had also risen above the trees, still shaken from the sudden disturbance.

She turned her gaze towards the ocean, hoping to find where the noise had originated. She smiled as she realized she was right – it was a ship, heading towards the coast. It was slowing down, while the once-cloudless sky began to turn grey from the vapors of the smokestacks.

She hadn’t seen a steamship since she was fourteen. She knew a ship meant visitors. A ship meant people. Giddy with anticipation, Anna slinked back down to the jungle floor.

“It’s a –” she stopped as she realized Tula and Manek had already taken off back to the nesting ground.

She rose to her feet and started off in the same direction. She had to find her parents and tell them.


	4. Greystoke

DuMont’s Trading Post did not see much business in the new century. Granted, it had never been the bustling port Monsieur DuMont had hoped it to be. In the years since, DuMont himself spent more time in France. He had wed a woman from Nice named Marie-Francoise, and now would only come back to East Africa to attend to his business twice-yearly. The would-be trade magnate was not there to man the Post; it was summer, and he was most likely enjoying the South of France with his wife.

And so it was, the odd little family was there to meet the ship at the dock. Anna had excitedly alerted her parents of the ship’s presence. Her father did not share her enthusiasm.

“They could be poachers,” he said.

His natural distrust of humans was in contrast to Anna’s willingness. Anna conceded she was like her father in many ways; this was one point where they diverged.

The four of them – Tarzan, Jane, Anna and Grandad Porter – waited at the edge of DuMont’s dock. Jane and Grandad could gather that the ship was English; a good sign, they noted.

“Maybe even an old friend,” Jane said hopefully.

Anna held her breath as the rope ladder dropped. A man, tall and slender, began to descend. He was followed by another, short and stout. They were dressed rather nicely, if impracticably. On closer inspection, Anna realized they were dressed identically, in black three-piece suits and bowler hats. The portly one wore a pair of round spectacles.

Poachers these were not.

It was the slim man who first caught sight of the family.

“Harold,” he said quietly to his companion, who was still descending the ladder. “Harold, I – I believe we’ve come upon the home of … Tarzan of the Apes.”

The family exchanged looks, silently negotiating who would speak first. Before either of them could, the two men stepped forward.

“Well,” the skinny one said. “The legend himself! I do say, when they told us we were headed for East Africa I _did_ wonder if it was the _same_ East Africa that is Tarzan’s Domain. I do say, we’ve come across quite the sight, eh Harry?”

Harry – the portly man – tipped his hat. “Pleasure to meet you all, Tarzan, Mrs. Tarzan, Professor and …” he paused, looking at Anna. “I want to say Abigail?”

Anna leaned forward to meet the short man’s height. “Annabel,” she said.

“Ah, Annabel! _Enchanté_ ,” he continued.

Anna turned her head to see her father next to her. “I _am_ Tarzan,” he said. “And who are you? And what are you doing in the jungle?”

“Ah,” said Harry, holding out his hand. “Harold Drake, Esquire. You can call me Harry. There,” he said, motioning to the slim man, “is my brother, Larry.”

“Lawrence,” his brother corrected him. “And we,” he said, producing a rolled-up paper from his suit pocket, “are here on important genealogical business.”

Anna and Tarzan exchanged looks of mutual confusion. _Genealogical business?_

Harry took over from his brother.

“We are here to retrace the steps of the ill-fated Greystoke Voyage of 1863.”

This didn’t provide any additional clarity.

“Hello,” Jane piped up, taking control of the situation as she often did. “Jane Porter, _lovely_ to meet you. This is all very interesting and we’d be _delighted_ to hear all about it. How about we discuss this all over tea?”

“I didn’t know they had tea,” Larry whispered to his brother.

***

The brothers unfurled the rolled-up paper on the table. They were all gathered around in the treehouse. The scroll the men had been carrying with them was a family tree, full of lines and names and sepia-toned pictures. From where Anna was, it was upside-down. She cocked her head to get a better look …

_Earldom of Greys—_

One of the brothers’ hands obscured the rest of it.

The slimmer one, Larry, cleared his throat. “In 1863, John Clayton II –”

“Him?” Tarzan interrupted, pointing to a picture on the family tree. It was a man with a slim mustache and a scowl.

“No,” Larry said bluntly. “ _That_ would be William C. Clayton, confirmed deceased in … well actually, not far from here if I’m not mistaken.”

Anna noticed something in her father’s expression change. An old memory was reacquainting itself.

“Clayton,” Anna’s father said, a twinge of anger in his voice.

_That was Clayton?_

The man who came to the jungle with Mum and Grandad. It was Clayton who killed Nana Kala's mate. Clayton, who had sworn to protect the Porters, until he didn't. _Clayton_ , the name was often invoked as a catch-all, a shorthand to explain why humans couldn't be trusted.

“You know this man?” Larry asked.

Jane sighed. “Yes. We knew him.”

“Well, as he _was_ the only son of Cecil B. Clayton, also deceased, his untimely demise certainly made our job harder,” Larry huffed. “Now why we are here is – as I was _saying_ – John Clayton II, heir apparent to the title of Lord Greystoke. He, along with his wife and son, set sail for Africa and were never seen again.”

Harry, the portly brother, continued. “We have been sent by the Clayton family for proof that they did indeed perish, so the title may be passed on to another, suitable relative.”

He pointed to a picture on the family tree, as the group huddled in to get a closer look. “John Clayton and his wife, Alice.”

Anna looked at her mother. Jane had turned paler than usual.

“Tarzan,” she whispered. “Are those—”

“...my parents,” he finished.

“Annabelgetthepicturefromthewall,” Jane said.

Anna leapt up – she knew exactly which picture Jane meant. It was one she studied with curiosity; her father’s parents. All he could ever tell her was that they had built the treehouse and were killed by a leopard when he was a baby. He didn’t even know their names. Anna looked at the picture intently. The woman – his mother, or his human mother, as she was called – was beautiful. Her eyes, the same intensity as Anna’s though perhaps not the same colour. Often Anna found herself wondering if this woman had the same pool-green eyes. How sad that her father only had a faded, colourless picture to remember them by.

Anna carefully removed it from the wall and placed it gently on the table next to the pictures on the family tree.

A perfect match.

“These were my parents,” Tarzan said. “They died, a long time ago.”

Anna felt something burst in her chest. They were John and Alice. Her mind swam with possibilities. There were people who _knew_ them as more than just a picture.

The brothers looked at the picture, then at Tarzan, then at the picture again. They lowered their heads and huddled closer together.

“I – is this to –”

“Tarzan of the Apes, the heir to the Earldom?”

“Well he does have her eyes.”

“And his bone structure.”

As the two men discussed, the family exchanged incredulous looks.

“ _What’s happening?_ ” Anna mouthed silently, her eyes communicating confusion and urgency.

“ _I don’t know,_ ” Jane mouthed back.

Larry raised his head and cleared his throat again.

“You know what this means, my good man?”

Tarzan shook his head.

“It means, if your parents are John and Alice Clayton, deceased, then _you_ are John Clayton the Third, their only son, and as such are the direct heir to the Earldom of Greystoke. You are Lord Greystoke! Job well done, Harry, don’t you think?” He said, turning to his brother.

“Well, we will have certainly earned that commission,” said Harry excitedly.

“Wait, wait,” Jane said, letting out a nervous laugh. “This is… this is too much. Tarzan. Nobility! And that would make me Lady Jane Grey, er Greystoke.”

“My _Lord_ ,” said Harry. “You could travel to London and claim Greystoke Manor. The title. The fortune.”

Anna leaned in closer, studying her father's face for an indication of what he would say. Tarzan looked puzzled. He hesitated, choosing his words carefully as Jane put an understanding hand on his shoulder. “Clayton and I… were family?” he said. “No.”

“I’m sorry, sir?” said Larry.

“No,” Tarzan said. “I can’t.”

“You … refuse to claim what’s rightfully yours? You understand if you don’t, with no other suitable relative, the title of Greystoke will be forever lost.”

Harry held up the family tree and frantically traced the lines.

“The title will then pass to Thomas Waltham Thornleigh, Earl of Dartmoor. It would render the Greystoke name extinct!”

“That doesn’t matter to me,” Tarzan said. “I am not Clayton. And this is my home.”

The two men sighed.

“So much for that commission,” Harry said quietly as he began to roll the family tree back up. "I suppose that's it, then."

Anna sat silent. If she didn’t say something now, would she get another chance? Before she gave it another thought, Anna put her hand down on the paper, stopping Harry.

“Wait,” she said, leaning closer. She put her finger on the space between John and Alice Clayton’s pictures. “You said a suitable relative. If my dad doesn’t take the title… well, I’m his daughter. I’m a relative.”

“Anna?” Jane said concerningly.

“I know just -- just let me think about this,” Anna replied. She looked back at the two brothers. “If I traveled to London, in his place, wouldn’t that give me the title?”

Larry looked stunned. “I – miss, that would be an exceedingly – a woman? It would be unprecedented, it would be –”

“Not impossible,” Harry interjected. “Difficult. But not impossible.”

“So… there’s a chance?” She asked.

“To be Lady Greystoke? Countess?” He sputtered. “Of course, it would require traveling to London for an extended period, becoming familiar with the Peerage, the family, obtaining absolute consent from the Lords,” he chuckled. “It’s no easy feat. A Countess with no Earl.”

“But I can try,” Anna said.

Jane took her daughter’s hand. “Anna…”

“Erm, Lawrence my good man,” said Harry quite suddenly, sensing there was a family discussion to be had. “Perhaps now would be a good time to step outside and enjoy the view, don’t you think?”

Larry nodded, understanding. “Yes, quite. We’ll leave you to it,” he said. The men hastily shuffled out the nearest door until it was the four of them once more.


	5. Blur

Silence swept over the home. Anna took a deep breath. She had been keeping this in since she turned sixteen all those months ago. She knew what she wanted to say… more or less.

“Mum… Dad,” she started, rising to her feet. “I just want to say everything right now and—and then we can talk about it.”

She waited a beat before continuing.

“Three years ago, I asked if I could ever leave the jungle and see England. And – and Mum, you said we would talk about it when I turned sixteen. And I’m sixteen now but I _didn’t_ bring it up because of …” she trailed off. She didn’t want to talk about the because.

“But now – I mean, I have a chance to go and live and I – we, have a whole _family_ over there. And what if this is the only chance I get?”

It was becoming clear that Anna had been rehearsing this in her head for some time. She realized she had been pacing, becoming animated as she spoke, the way her mother would get when she told an exciting story. If nothing else, she thought, at least she finally had that particular weight off of her back. She looked to her parents’ faces for guidance. Her father looked forlorn. Jane stood up and pulled her daughter into a hug.

“Annabel,” she said. “Annabel, I don’t want you to get hurt.” At this Jane’s hand moved to Anna’s cheek, gently brushing the small scar beneath her left eye. Anna flinched instinctively.

Anna peered over her mother’s shoulder. “Dad?”

“Dad, say something. Please.”

Words didn’t always come easily to Tarzan; even less so when confronted with complicated matters. In fact, Anna recalled, he’d barely said a word last time she brought this to them. She shut her eyes and braced for disappointment.

“Why,” he started, standing up to meet them. “Why do you want to leave your home?”

Her eyes shot back open. She never thought about how she might elaborate.

“It’s not forever,” Anna said in an attempt to reassure him. “I – I have to know what’s there for me.”

More silence. Anna took that as licence to keep talking. “And if it doesn’t work out, then I can come back and we can pretend like it never happened and we’ll just not talk about it ever and—”

He had placed his index finger over her mouth – his own way of telling her to stop talking.

“I’ll miss you,” he said.

“I’ll miss you too and –” _Wait a minute._ He didn’t say no. Her green eyes widened and her mouth grew outwards. “You – you’re – saying yes?”

He nodded. Anna could tell there was sadness in his own eyes.

“ _We’ll_ miss you,” Jane added. “I knew this day would come, I just didn’t want it to come so soon.” Her eyes welled with tears.

Anna couldn’t help but do the same. “Mum, I’ll be able to see where you grew up!” She tried to lighten the mood, dabbing at her eyes with the back of her palm.

Jane motioned to the door, reminding Anna that the Drake brothers were still outside. “Why don’t you let them know?” She said gently.

“Right,” she said. She sprinted out the door to the repurposed ship’s bow where the brothers sat.

“I’m coming with you!” She shouted, arms outstretched.

***

The following moments were a blur. The brothers circled with renewed interest, badgering her with questions and informing her of protocols. Mum and Grandad went back to camp, searching for old clothes and luggage. Her father disappeared entirely.

 _It was settled_ , as Larry Drake said. The ship would depart for London the next morning. The brothers would send word to the Claytons that the search had been semi-successful, and to expect the arrival of their long-lost relative, “Miss Annabel J. Porter.”

By this time the next day, she would be on her way to England.

At dusk, Anna managed to slip away from the brothers and the treehouse. She had escaped to an enclave not far from the gorillas. A high tree that afforded a view not only of the river that ran through the jungle, but the ocean itself. Anna sat on the edge of the mossy branch and tried to memorize each detail. The colour of the water when the sun set. The exact shades of green that painted the canopy.

She was lost in her observations, until a familiar rustling sound brought her back into the present.

“I thought you would be here,” her father said, setting down beside her in his usual way – on all fours.

“I’m trying to remember it before I go,” she said. It sounded strange to say it – _before I go_.

“Dad, are you,” she paused, trying to find the words he would understand. “Disappointed in me?”

He sighed. “I wish you would stay.”

Anna grew defensive. “And who will I be if I stay? We know I’m not going to lead. I’m not – I’m not like you.”

Her words reverberated between them. She looked at her father, the way she did when she wanted to get a point across. Eyes pleading, lips curled in tight. So much of their communication was on looks alone. Their twin eyes had a way of saying what words couldn't.

The sounds of the jungle, of birds and wind and crashing waterfalls, filled the silence.

“You know I thought about leaving too,” he said. “To be with your mother. And do you know what my mother told me?”

Anna knew his mother meant Kala – the only mother he knew. Up until a few hours ago, the woman in the picture was an abstract concept. Someone who bore a passing resemblance and nothing more.

“No, I don’t,” Anna responded. They had never talked about this before, at least not in such detail.

“She said, ‘I just want you to be happy.’ And that’s what I want for you.”

“And this will make me happy,” she said.

He took her hands in his. His hands were always warm; rough but in a way that felt familiar and comforting to Anna. Tarzan looked down and focused intently on them.

“I don’t want you to be like Clayton.”

“I won’t. I promise. This will always be my home, Dad.”

And she meant it. The thought of London was intriguing, but altogether alien. She thought about how she would miss laying in the trees, careening down branches and through vines, or climbing up to the crow’s nest of the treehouse and seeing the world before her.

She didn’t know what London had in store for her, and the notion excited and terrified her in equal measure.


	6. Dress

Anna and her father were back at the treehouse by nightfall. The Drake brothers had taken off to their ship, and Jane had returned. Anna and Tarzan arrived to find her bolting around the house, items strewn about.

“Anna!” she said rather frantically. “Good news!”

Anna could tell by the slightly manic glint in her mother’s eyes that the news might not be altogether "good."

“I found my old dress!” she cried, pulling a mass of yellow fabric seemingly out of nowhere. “Might be a bit out of fashion, but it will do fine.”

Jane thrust the dress into Anna’s arms and pulled her towards the loft. “We _have_ to try it on.”

Anna turned her head to her father and shot him a panicked look. “Help me,” she mouthed, knowing he wouldn’t do a thing to stop it. There was no stopping Jane once she got an idea in her head.

Up in the loft, curtains drawn, Anna saw the dress wasn’t a dress at all. Not like the simple, single pieces of fabric she was used to, anyway. This “dress,” if you could call it that, had at least eight different parts, all splayed out on the floor. Anna’s eyes zeroed in on one.

“Is that a _corset_?” Anna said.

Her mother grimaced. “Just try it on?” she offered.

Anna picked up a cage-like contraption. “And what is _this_?”

“It’s a bustle.”

Whatever it was, it was heavy. The idea of putting on extra weight seemed preposterous.

An exasperated “Why?” was all Anna could say in response.

“It’s for the _shape_ ,” Jane said. “I know it seems odd, but you’ll need to look the part when you get to London. And this is what all the ladies were wearing when I was there. I’m sure it hasn’t changed _too_ much.”

“You will _not_ get me in that.”

“Well, we’ll try.”

As Anna predicted, putting on the dress was a torturous process. After some prolonged yelping from behind the curtain, Anna emerged to take a look at herself in the mirror downstairs.

“I look like a giant banana.”

She saw her father stifle a laugh out of the corner of her eye.

“This isn’t funny!” She said, struggling to even face him in the constraints of the yellow monstrosity. “I can barely breathe in this!”

Jane gave a chagrined glance at her daughter. Even she could admit that perhaps the dress had looked better on her own slender frame. On Anna, the shirtsleeves clinged uncomfortably around her arms, and the skirt sat just a little too high to look right.

“It will do for now,” she said, defeated. “I’m sure the Claytons would be kind enough to bring you some new clothes.”

Anna looked back at her mother. “Can I _please_ get this off?”

How did ladies move in this? She thought back to the time her mother gave her a copy of _Wuthering Heights_ – there was just no way Catherine could walk up and down those hills in such a thing. Were well-behaved ladies in London just not meant to move at all?

Her mother had already moved on, piling items into a large trunk inscribed with the initials _J.P._ Her old boots (“In remarkably good condition, all things considered.”), hats that had not seen much wear for the last sixteen-odd years, and as Anna ascended back to the loft, a worn sketchbook, which Jane carefully placed at the bottom of the trunk.

***

Of course she didn’t sleep that night. Instead, Anna lied awake, looking up at the vaulted wood ceiling. The plan was to leave just after sunrise. Even then, England would be a long way away. Jane had already warned her of the boredom and loneliness that awaited her on the ship. She’d handed a large tome to Anna with the title _Middlemarch, A Study of Provincial Life_ , telling her it was what she read – twice – when she voyaged to the jungle.

She flopped onto her stomach and stared out the window. It was a full moon and the pale light quietly illuminated the loft. It was odd to think she would see the same moon tomorrow – just in the middle of the ocean.


	7. Peter

The morning had an air of sadness. The rainy season hadn’t approached yet, but the clouds hanging over the jungle seemed to threaten rain nonetheless. Anna sat patiently as her mother gathered her long hair behind her back with a lilac ribbon, tying it into a bow.

The Drake brothers were waiting – somewhat impatiently – on the dock. The three of them – Tarzan, Jane and Anna – had one last embrace as a family.

“You can do it,” Jane whispered to her daughter.

Loosening from their embrace, Anna glanced to her father with a look of gratitude.

“I’ll miss you so much.”

Part of her didn’t want to move at all. It was Harry Drake that took her by the hand, leading her towards the steps. By the time she reached the top, Anna could feel a prick of tears. She gave one last wave.

In a moment, everything was different.

***

_So, this was London_. Her mother had understated how grey it would be. She would talk about it on a particularly rainy day – “It’s a London sort of day,” she would say – but Anna imagined something more colourful. This was dark, gloomy, almost eerie. Strange noises crept through her ears – there was so much shouting, screeching and sounds she could hardly identify.

The ship had pulled into the docks. Harry Drake had told her that they were in the “Famous River Thames.” There were more sights to see than there were in the vast ocean, but it had all been clouded by fog. If she squinted, Anna thought she could see Big Ben rising above the low clouds. Or maybe she was imagining.

Her hair was tied back with the same lilac bow. She wore one of her mother’s old shirts – with corset. Her mother’s boots were difficult to get on. Anna hated wearing them – she had spent most of the journey barefoot. They were tight, so tight her feet felt imprisoned.

The ship had stopped its slow crawl into the docks. An important-looking man, with a uniform and badge had come aboard. Anna sat on her – her mother’s, really – suitcase, watching intently as the man and the Drake brothers conversed. The man occasionally looked at Anna, then turned his attention back to Harry and Larry. It looked as if they were trying to convince the man of something. They showed him papers. Anna looked down at her feet. She didn’t know whether to look the man in the eye. She didn’t want to talk to him. Or anyone, really.

Anna focused on her feet, thinking about the moment she’d be able to take off the godforsaken boots again. In fact, sleep would be nice too. Would the Claytons let her sleep when she came to the house? Would she have her own room?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a tap on the shoulder.

“We’re ready,” said Harry, holding out his hand. Anna took it and sat up. She lifted the suitcase.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Larry interjected. “We’ll have someone take that for you. Ladies need not carry their own luggage now!”

Anna let go as a large, unfamiliar man took a hold of the case. She would have asked him where he was taking it, but so far, this new locale had rendered her mute. All she could do was eke out a nervous smile.

She allowed Harry to lead her down the narrow stairs that had been attached to the dock. Presumably he knew where he was going. She tried to look out for the man with her suitcase. She didn’t want to lose it.

They walked down the docks. Anna felt an odd mixture of fear and intrigue – the sounds were overwhelming. The docks were surrounded by tall structures that billowed smoke. Men shouted and threw things. Several times she would slow, straining to get a better look before Harry rushed her along while mumbling something about ladies and ships.

Eventually they came to the entrance of the docks, which was almost as abrupt as how Harry stopped. Anna heard a _thump_ as she noticed her suitcase had reappeared at her side.

“This is where we leave you,” said Harry. “Our auto is here. The Claytons should be sending a chauffeur for you. Don’t see him yet, but I’m sure in due course.”

Harry pulled her into a hug. Anna awkwardly hugged him back.

“Sorry,” Harry said as he released her. “I … I hope it turns out alright for you.”

Larry, who had been trailing behind, came up to Anna and shook her hand.  
  
“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” he said solemnly.

“Thank you,” Anna said, half-surprised that London didn’t steal her voice completely.

The brothers climbed into their automobile, as Harry gave one last wave as it drove away into an endless crowd.

And just like that, she was alone. A chauffeur was coming – how would she even know if they were there? Should she look for them? What did they even look like?

Did the Claytons forget about her?

Anna began to feel her chest closing in. _Panic._ She breathed in.

The fog had turned into dense, dark clouds. Even in London, the sound of thunder was unmistakable. It took less than five seconds for Anna to be drenched.

 _No, you need to stay_ , she thought. How else would this chauffeur find her? People ran about the streets for shelter from the rain. Anna moved up against one of the brick walls, pressing her back in tight and wishing the wall would swallow her.

She closed her eyes. She tried to imagine home, but her mind returned to her imprisoned feet. They were wet – how could feet get wet when she was wearing boots? Anna immediately realized that this was one of the worst feelings in the world. She had to get these boots off.

She wasn’t sure how long she stayed against the wall, or how many people saw the drenched young woman pressed still against a building. Maybe they didn’t even notice. She was certain she would stay there forever.

“Annabel Porter?”

A voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She opened her eyes to see a well-dressed, dark-skinned young man holding an umbrella. His voice was strange. He didn’t sound British to Anna.

“H-hi,” she said. “Are you … Mr. Clayton?”

The young man erupted into laughter. “Oh man, I wish! No, I’m Peter.”

Anna looked at him quizzically.

“Peter Jameson,” he said.

This elicited no response.

“Nobody told you? Guess not. Anyway, I’m the chauffeur. I’m just here to take you to the Manor.”

He definitely wasn’t British. His voice had no formality. Come to think of it, he sounded a lot like Bob Markham, the American, an old friend of the family who visited the jungle once when Anna was young. Anna found this voice refreshing after listening to the Drake brothers the entire voyage.

“Great first impression of London, huh? Same thing happened for me when I got here. I guess Melfort isn’t as far as Africa. Kind of funny, _you_ being from Africa. Here, let me,” he said, taking her suitcase in one hand. He gestured with his umbrella, inviting her to stand under it.

As she came closer she could get a better look at him. He was nearly her height, maybe an inch taller. He had deep, kind brown eyes. Something about his eyes made her inherently trust him.

“You’re all anyone can talk about,” Peter went on. “Long lost cousin from the jungle? Sounds crazy! And part of the famous Tarzan family. Most exciting thing to hit this place since … well, I don’t know!”

She noticed he couldn’t stop talking, but she didn’t mind. He opened the door to the car – a large, black thing. Had she not been so preoccupied with the thought of her wet feet she would have marveled at it.

“Hope you don’t mind, I left you some reading material on the seat. Might find it interesting,” he said.

Anna sat down inside and noticed a newspaper on her right. Peter had taken the effort to circle what was supposed to be so interesting – a column in the bottom corner that read “DAUGHTER OF ‘TARZAN OF THE APES’ ARRIVES IN LONDON; STAYING IN GREYSTOKE MANOR.”

Anna remembered how frequently visitors came to the jungle when she was younger. She remembered one man who had come just to take a photograph of her father. It wasn’t until now, staring at the front page, that she realized what a fascination her father, and by extension she, was.

She listened to the boy continue to speak as he leapt into the driver’s seat.

“Okay, we’re off,” he said. “Bit of a journey before we get there, make yourself comfortable.”

Anna smiled and closed her eyes. She liked this boy. She was overwhelmed and liked not having to speak. She could listen to him all day…

“Hey? Miss Porter? Uh … m-m’lady?”

Her eyes bolted open. The car had stopped and Peter was now standing in Anna’s sight.

“We’re here. I was wondering why you were so quiet. Didn’t get much sleep last night?”

Anna gave a chagrined smile. She wasn’t even sure what time it was, let alone what day. He held out his hand again and helped her out. He tried in vain to hold out his umbrella, but the wind rendered it impossible. She was as soaked as ever.

“Usually the whole household comes outside for this sorta thing,” he said. “Guess the rain is keeping them indoors.” He looked her in the eyes.

“So,” he said. “Ready to meet the family?”

“I think so?” she said.

He laughed. “Ready as you’ll ever be, right?”


	8. Thornleigh

Peter led her up the way to a massive manor of iron and stone. Anna felt intimidated just looking at it. The grey skies and pouring rain made it especially foreboding. She felt as if she were being led to her execution.

The door opened without Peter having to knock. He chuckled at this, “They’re looking out for us.”

He motioned for Anna to enter first. She gingerly stepped inside, and found herself transported into a stone palace. The floors, the columns, the carvings in the wall were entirely cold, grey stone. The clacking of her heels against the floor amused her slightly as the sound reverberated through the hall.

“Thank you, Mister Hughes,” Peter said to the man who had opened the monstrous door as he handed him the now-ruined umbrella. He caught up to Anna, “Mister Hughes, head of household,” he whispered in her ear.

Anna turned her head and gave a slight nod to Mister Hughes. He looked to be a serious man. Anna thought it best not to smile.

“They must all be in the drawing room,” Peter said. “Follow me.”

He led her down the entrance hall and to the left, through a gorgeously engraved doorway. The stone floors gave way to blood red carpet, the foreboding stone walls replaced with golden, flowery wallpaper. Before Anna stop to marvel at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling, or the smooth marble of the fireplace, she saw the excitable crowd gathered in the room.

Peter motioned for her to stay back. “I got this,” he whispered before stepping forward.

“Presenting,” he said, in a more sophisticated tone than Anna had been accustomed to hearing from him, as the room fell silent. “Miss Annabel Porter, erm, Clayton, daughter of Tarzan.”

A stifled laugh came from one woman in the crowd. Another stepped forward, a beautiful woman with amber hair done in a most elaborate fashion (were those feathers?).

“Thank you, Mister James. You’re dismissed.”

Peter gave a sheepish bow and hurried out. “It’s Jameson,” Anna heard him mutter.

The feather-haired woman gave a close-lipped smile. “Annabel, was it? Lady Lavinia Clayton Waltham Thornleigh.”

A younger, petite woman appeared. She had the same pale, piercing eyes as Lavinia.

“Lady Clarissa Thornleigh,” she said. “I suppose my mother and I are your cousins, of some sort.”

Clarissa’s voice had an almost forced enthusiasm. Anna noticed her light blonde hair wasn’t quite as elaborate as her mother’s, but was dressed just as formally. At that moment Anna realized how painfully inadequate her mother’s old clothes were. The edges of her wet hair were glued tightly to her face; the purple bow had wilted in the rain.

Clarissa took Anna’s hand more forcefully than Peter did. The cold feeling of Clarissa’s rings and the too-smooth silk gloves startled Anna as Clarissa pulled her deeper into the crowd.

“Lord Thomas Thornleigh, my brother,” Clarissa said, motioning towards a fair, tall young man. “Earl of Dartmoor.”

“Lord Robert Waltham, Earl of Newtonmore, another cousin.”

Clarissa hastily introduced Anna to half a dozen more “cousins,” Countesses and Barons and something called a Marquess, before coming to another young woman.

“Lady Emmy Waltham,” Clarissa introduced.

Emmy had wavy chestnut hair, piled at the top of her head save for two ringlets that sat artfully on each shoulder. Anna couldn’t help but think her dress was pretty, a blue frock with a slim silhouette. She looked to be Anna’s age.

“Me Em-my,” she said slowly, pointing at herself. She pointed to Anna, “You –” she paused and looked at Clarissa quizzically, “Oh dear are we sure she understands English?”

This was all it took to make Anna find her voice again.

“My name is Anna, and I speak English very well in fact,” she said cuttingly. This cousin had some nerve.

Emmy shrunk back and drooped her head.

Anna turned to Clarissa. “Miss, um, Lady,” she fumbled. “Clarissa. I had a long journey here and would we be able to do this later? After I’ve had some rest?”

Clarissa shook her head defiantly. “Nonsense, we’re about to sit for dinner and everyone downstairs has been working _so hard_. It would be _terribly_ rude not to.”

All Anna could do was nod. Something about Clarissa put her at ease. There was concern in her voice, as if she wanted Anna to make a good impression. She thought back to what Peter had said moments ago. _She’s looking out for me_.

Clarissa grabbed Anna’s hand again – that _grip_ – and led her further down the room until she came to a great velvet chair in which a frail old man sat.

“And of course, Lord John Clayton I, Earl of Greystoke.”

Anna quickly did the sums in her head. _If Dad’s father was John Clayton II than this must be –_

“My great grandfather?” Anna said quietly.

“Come closer,” the withered old man said. Anna obliged, bending her knees so as to look at his face. He slowly placed a hand on her cheek.

“You have Alice’s eyes.”

Anna’s breath stopped in its tracks. Alice, her grandmother. With only an old, faded photograph as her reference, she had never known what colour Alice’s eyes had been; now they were hers.

“My father’s eyes,” Anna replied.

At that moment she wanted to ask him everything. What were her grandparents like? What was _he_ like, for that matter? Did he have photographs?

Before she could ask Lord Clayton – what _was_ she supposed to call him? – any of the hundreds of questions she had on her mind, she felt Clarissa’s unmistakable grip on her arm.

“Come, we’re being seated in the dining room.”

***

The dining room was even more lavish than the drawing room. Large paintings of valiant men on horses and fine ladies in gowns adorned the walls. Silver candelabras marked each end of the long dining table, itself draped in a spotless white tablecloth. On it sat the finest dishes Anna had ever seen – white and silver china marked with a cursive “G.”

Clarissa guided Anna to a seat at the very end, while she herself sat a few seats above. Anna could see Clarissa’s brother, Thomas, seated at the head. Lady Lavinia was directly across from Anna, and Anna believed she could make out Emmy’s chestnut coif across from Clarissa. Two men dressed in black and white suits stood at attention by the door.

Anna tried to remember everything she might have read about etiquette. Her mother had two or three books on the subject, which Anna paged through with curiosity from time to time. She knew there were rules about the cutlery, which side your drink would be served, and so on. At the time it all seemed so silly to her. When she asked Jane if people in England really did this, Jane just shrugged and said “It’s just the way things are.”

Now, looking down at the fine setting, she had forgotten all of it. She could just follow the others’ lead. Anna took a deep breath. _This is fine_ , she thought. Her feet were still sore, though.

Partway through the first course – soup, which Anna tried her best not to slurp – Lavinia began to speak to the woman seated next to her (Baroness Rosalie? Rosamond? Anna struggled to remember her name.)

“I can tell you, this _girl_ will not take what rightfully belongs to my Thomas,” Lavinia said in a slightly-hushed tone.

“Well why do you say that?” her companion asked.

“Look at her,” Lavinia said. “She may be a Clayton in name, but I guarantee she is not a Clayton by nature.”

Anna caught the Baroness looking at her with intent. It dawned on her that she and Lavinia were talking about her.

“Child of a dowdy professor’s daughter,” Lavinia went on. “Who threw herself at probably the first man to pay her any mind.”

Anna froze. Her breathing grew slow and heavy as she tried to concentrate on her soup. She was holding the spoon in midair, unsure of what to do next.

Lavinia, perhaps noticing Anna, only became louder.

“From what I hear, her father is positively savage.”

At this Anna dropped her spoon and stood up, shaking the table with such force that her soup spilled onto the ivory tablecloth. She could feel the heat of anger in her face – and the heat of the entire table staring at her.

“I’ve heard enough,” she said, looking directly at Lavinia.

She walked to the doorway, where one of the startled-looking servants stood. Anna recognized him as the stern old man who had opened the door for her and Peter.

“Mister Hughes,” Anna said, trying her hardest to sound authoritative. “I would like to be shown to my room.”


	9. Ermintrude

A boot flew across the room. Then another one.

 _I never want to see these boots again_ , she thought as they hit the wall, one leaving a muddy mark on the floral wallpaper of her new room. It was certainly roomier than the loft – and it had _four_ walls – but to Anna it was all wrong. The fake flowers on the wall couldn’t compare to the ones at home. The wood was too polished. The bed was so covered in pillows that Anna barely knew how to go about getting in it.

She lay on the four-poster bed. She was uncomfortable, but didn’t want to move at all. _I just want to stay still_.

Anna let her eyes close and the tears fall; she hadn’t cried this much since she left.

 _This was all a big mistake_ , she thought.

She allowed herself to curl her legs and hug them to her chest. She wasn’t in her new position more than one minute before she heard a knock.

 _Ignore it_ , she thought, shutting her eyes.

She heard the door open anyway. She opened her eyes in alarm.

Blue dress. Brown curls. Emmy.

Anna quickly sat upright. “I do _not_ want to talk to you.”

The girl pressed the door shut behind her. “Just listen to me,” she said quickly. “I’ll only be a moment.”

Anna narrowed her eyes.

Emmy continued. “I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot. There was some sort of… misunderstanding. So, I will take the opportunity to start again.”

She cleared her throat in a theatrical manner.

“My name is Emmy. And you are?”

Anna sighed, playing along. “Anna.”

“ _Lovely_. Now that that’s sorted, I want to help you.”

“What?”

Emmy sat down on the bed next to Anna. “I said, I want to help you. I want you to have the inheritance, the title, all of it. And I _don’t_ want Aunt Lavinia to have it.”

“You don’t like Lavinia,” Anna said, trying to follow. Did anyone in this family actually _like_ each other?

“Of course not!” Emmy exclaimed. “You saw her out there, she is _dreadful_. And you wouldn’t know this but she _insists_ on calling me by my full name, not even my father calls me by that name, but she does because she knows how much it bothers me.”

Emmy was flustered; Anna failed to see how all this had any effect on her.

Emmy continued. “Lavinia wants it to go to Thomas, and since he is already Lord Dartmoor he would inherit the money and,” she waved her hands around frantically, “the Manor. And she thinks Thomas would live in Dartmoor Abbey and _she_ would be given Greystoke Manor.”

“So th—”

“And the _thought_ of living in Aunt Lavinia’s household is un _bear_ able!”

“And that’s why you want to help me?”

Emmy shrugged. “More or less,” she said. “And by the looks of it you _need_ me. I know _why_ you did it, but storming out of dinner is not the way to win hearts and minds.” She looked over Anna’s dress. “We also need to get you a nice dress. Please don’t tell me you’re taking styling tips from the monkeys.”

Anna shot her a cutting look.

“Sorry,” Emmy sighed, shrinking back once more. “All I’m saying is you need someone who knows society, and _I_ know society. None of us are going to get what we want if we don’t work together.”

Anna knew she was in no position to turn down help, even if it was from Emmy. “Do you at least promise to be a little nicer?” Anna offered.

“I’ll try my best,” Emmy said, theatrically holding a hand to her heart. She extended her other hand to Anna.

“Truce?”

“Okay,” Anna shook her hand. She was curious. “What _is_ your full name?”

A look of dread fell across Emmy’s face. “Ermintrude,” she said solemnly. “After my mother’s aunt, or something or other.”

She wasn’t sure what face she made in response, but Anna knew it said enough.

“It’s positively _ghastly_ ,” Emmy said, clearly eager to change the subject. “Now, you didn’t happen to bring any other clothes with you? Not that it matters, we’ll make a trip to Selfridges tomorrow.” Emmy fluttered around the room, looking for any evidence of Anna’s belongings.

“A trip? Could Clarissa come with us?”

At this Emmy froze and turned on her heel to face Anna. “Absolutely not,” she said grimly.

Anna was confused. “Well, why not? She seemed… nice.”

“Anna,” Emmy started. “Lavinia and Clarissa are one and the same. The only difference is Lavinia stabs you in the front, and Clarissa stabs you in the back.”

“Oh.”

Emmy sighed. “I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

She came closer and narrowed her eyes. Before Anna knew it, Emmy had taken her cheeks in her hand and was studying her face with intent. Anna noticed her eyes were blue, but not the piercing, intimidating blue of Lavinia and Clarissa. Rather, it was a deep, ocean hue.

“Bone structure, remarkable,” Emmy said. “Must come from our side of the family. Eyebrows, unruly. Hair? Could be better.”

“What are you doing?” Anna said through her smushed cheeks, her face still in Emmy’s grip.

“Just seeing what I have to work with,” Emmy said and freeing Anna’s cheeks and moving on to the rest of her. “You know that shirt is too small.”

“I know, it’s my mother’s,” Anna said as if that explained it all.

“I don’t think I’ve ever _seen_ arms like yours! Luckily, loose sleeves are all the rage,” she said, raising her arms to display the draped sleeves on her blue gown. “Now before we leave tomorrow I’ll give you something of mine to wear, I cannot have you walking around looking the way you do.” She paused. “How many people do you think saw you?”

Anna sat back on the bed. Emmy was positively exhausting. But, Anna supposed, she was her only friend. Except for Peter, he seemed friendly. Where was he now? Maybe she’d see him tomorrow.

Anna let Emmy prattle on as she closed her eyes. She listened as Emmy went on about the time Clarissa gave her a green hat for her birthday, well aware of the fact that she looked “heinous” in green. She lied her head on one of the many pillows. It was so inviting.

“Anna? Are you _asleep_?”


	10. Painting

She was in the same place it always started. In the clearing that was once crowded with trees until Markham’s men – loggers – cut it all down. In the clearing, she was prime prey.

It went the same. The low growl. Anna playing dead. Getting up too soon. The chase.

Her instincts took over. She didn’t have the forethought to go up, climbing a tree or grabbing hold of the nearest vine. The only way was forward, on her own two feet. Her heart pounded in her ears. Her long hair flew every which way, obscuring her vision.

She didn’t notice the root, or even feel her foot slip under it.

But this time, instead of crashing awake, the jungle floor gave way to water. The trees melted away, and were replaced with submersed stalks and leaves. She up looked for a sign of land – that thin bright strip above her – but there was none. Just endless water, with endless depth.

There was a glimmer of light in the corner of her eye. She swam down, chasing it until it grew bigger. As she got closer she realized it was a door, and the polished doorknob was the light she saw. She was compelled to open it.

The water disappeared. She was in her home, stepping through the front door of the treehouse. And there was her mother, on her favourite chair, drawing in her sketchbook.

Anna ran toward her. “Mum!”

But Jane kept to her drawing. It was as if she didn’t even hear her.  
  
“Mum?” Anna said. She waved her hand between Jane and her book. It didn’t matter. It was like Anna was invisible.

She peered at the open sketchbook. A thin pencil drawing of a figure. A gangly, awkward girl with short hair, evidently cut herself. Anna narrowed her eyes to make out the small scribble in the corner of the page.

_Annabel, age 13._

“It’s me,” she whispered to herself.

She realized Jane was facing her subject. It was Anna, as she was then. Her back to her mother, her long, skinny legs jutting out behind her as she sat at the window, looking out into the distance. Through a tear in her clothes Anna spotted a bandage, one she knew covered her torso.

Anna wanted to get a closer look at herself. She supposed she could, if no one could see her. She took a step closer. Then another, then –

“Hello? You’re not still asleep, are you?”

Her eyes popped open, right as a young woman in a simple dress and a white apron tore open the drapes, filling the room with light.

“Agh,” Anna cringed. “Yes, I was.”

She squinted and made out Emmy’s unmistakable figure. “Hi Emmy,” she said, sitting up.

Emmy had no time for greetings. “We have to get moving! I’ve picked out a dress for you – don’t tell me you fell asleep in your _clothes_ – and had Gwen bring breakfast, since you already slept through breakfast in the dining room. Here, have some coffee, you’ll need it.”

Emmy thrust a cup of black liquid into Anna’s hand. Anna took a sip and nearly choked on the bitter taste. _What happened to tea?_ She thought. And yet, she kept drinking it.

“You can wear my old pink frock,” Emmy said. “I haven’t worn it in months, and the sleeves are loose enough that it won’t look so queer.”

Anna saw the pale pink dress laid out on the bed. Anna supposed it was better than her mother’s bright yellow.

“Anna, we don’t have all day!” Emmy shouted, causing Anna to spill the coffee on her mother’s old shirt. “Lavinia and Clarissa will take the good car if we don’t hurry up!”

***

Anna felt like a different person. She _looked_ like one, anyway. Her waist was perfectly cinched. She was covered in pink lace. Atop her head sat a large monster of a hat, with an impossibly large brim and adorned with flowers (also pink).

She felt just a little ridiculous. But she looked like Emmy, which she assumed was the goal. Or Emmy’s.

Anna let her cousin lead her down the hall. She had no idea how big the Manor was, while Emmy knew it inside out. They were making their way down a hallway – which hallway, Anna couldn’t say – which was lined with paintings of Claytons past. Nondescript, anonymous people that Anna had a tenuous connection to.

“Emmy, wait!”

Except one. Anna knew this one. A woman with red hair in curls. A teal dress. Deep green eyes. A stern-looking man by her side.

Anna smiled.

“It’s Alice.”

Emmy looked at Anna, then at the painting. “Hmm, there’s actually a resemblance,” she said as if surprised.

Anna kept looking at it. Her hand was resting on a book, and Anna could see the spine read _The Uncharted Jungle_. Alice looked so poised, so regal. Anna tried to stand a little taller, imitating her grandmother in the painting.

Emmy was losing her patience. “I promise you can come back to it later, but Selfridges cannot wait.”


	11. Driver

_Emmy had never paid much attention to the portraits adorning nearly every wall of the Manor. Her mind went blank when her tutor would have her follow him down the halls, pointing out all "Those who had admirably served the family," which really meant Those who were fortunate enough to be born into the wealth of the Claytons, the Walthams, the Thornleighs. If not for their luck, they would have been people of no importance with no realm to protect. Emmy knew that._

_Of course, Emmy was quite happy with the luxuries her good fortune provided. She had no desire to give it up. In fact, shouldn't everyone aspire to live as comfortably as she did? And yet, here was her long-lost cousin, who seemed to not care for it at all._

_She had her work cut out for her, but she was determined. She was Emma Woodhouse, ready to make Anna her own Harriet Smith. Though her cousin wasn't as mousy as Harriet - her dark green eyes were too striking for that. She was no wallflower. She was without subtlety. This was less about making her look more presentable (though a new wardrobe would certainly help) than it was teaching her the proper way to move through society._

_Emmy looked at the portrait that Anna was so enamored with. It was like Emmy was looking at it for the first time too. It was the eyes - those same striking, no, intense, eyes. Not quite like looking in a mirror, Emmy thought. More like seeing a ghost you didn't know existed._

_She figured her cousin would have stayed there for hours if she hadn't pulled her along. They were already late, and there was something Emmy was hoping to avoid._

***

Anna could have stayed there for hours, picking apart every detail of the portrait. She had spent her life devoid of any knowledge about her father's parents outside of the sparse details he knew. _They lived here once, and then they died._ When she got older, _died_ turned into _were killed_. Now she was in a house full of knowledge, and she was insatiable.

But, Emmy was insistent on leaving for this place called Selfridges. She let her cousin lead her through a heretofore hidden door, down a maze of hallways until they emerged outdoors. It wasn't the pristine grounds Anna had driven up to the day before. They had come out behind the Manor. This must be where the cars were kept when they weren't being driven,

“Mister Barrow,” Emmy said to the man in the garage. “Has Mister Mason left yet?”

“Afraid so, Lady Emmy,” Mister Barrow responded. “He left with Lady Thornleigh and Lady Clarissa this morning. But, Mister Jameson is at your service.”

Anna perked up. “Mister Jameson?”

Emmy looked crestfallen. “Oh no.”

Peter stepped out from behind the car. He smiled at the sight of Anna. “Well, you look different from the last time I saw you.”

“Hi Peter,” Anna said, happily. “Have you met my cousin Emmy?”

Peter’s smile faded. “Oh boy,” he grumbled.

Emmy dug a heel into the ground. “Oh, we've met," she said, pursing her lips. "Mister Jameson ... pleasure."

"All mine," he said solemnly.

Emmy grabbed Anna's arm and spun her around. She lowered her voice. "Anna, you need to understand this. I _refuse_ to be chauffeured by this uncouth … Yankee!”

"You know I can hear you?" Peter shouted. "And I’m Canadian.”

Emmy turned back around. "Is there a difference?"

"Yes. A lot, actually."

"You presume I care."

"See, that's the thing about you. You don't care about anything that isn't about you!"

"Now that's not true!" Emmy pulled Anna closer to her. "I'm helping out my long-lost cousin here."

Anna looked back and forth at her new friends.

"Can someone tell me what's going on here?" She said, trying to pry herself from Emmy's iron grip.

Peter sighed and wiped his brow.

"Anna," he said. "Emmy and I aren't really ... friends."

"Well that's an understatement," Emmy sneered.

Peter gestured to Emmy. "See what I mean?"

"Well he has no manners," Emmy said defensively.

"Or maybe you're just not a nice person?" Peter offered.

"I'm a _very_ nice person, I am the _only_ one who has showed poor Anna _any_ kindness!"

"Well actually --" Anna cut in.

"Which is why I was intending to take her to the shops to buy her a desperately needed wardrobe, but if you will be the one chauffeuring us, well I am prepared to wait."

"What?" Anna's head snapped to look at Emmy. "Emmy, he's ... a good driver."

"It's not about the driving, Anna," Peter said.

Anna sighed. _I really don't want my only two friends to hate each other,_ she thought.

She wriggled away from Emmy and stood between the pair. She was going to have to be the leader now.

"Look," she said, arms outstretched. "You two are my friends. I need both of you. Emmy, you want to help me? Then let Peter drive us. And Peter, maybe be nicer. Actually, that's for both of you."

She looked at the two of them. She hoped she had spoke with some authority.

"Could you shake on it?" She said, a little quietly.

She smiled as Peter held out a brown, work-weathered hand.

"I'll call a truce if you will," he said.

"Fine," Emmy said, shaking on it.

"So," Peter said. "Where we going?"


	12. Selfridge

“This is it,” said Peter from the driver’s seat. “Selfridges.”

Anna looked out the backseat window at the towering building. London looked a lot different in the daylight. It wasn’t nearly as foreboding. Oxford Street was teeming with people, all in a hurry to get somewhere.

Maybe they were all going to Selfridges, which _was_ quite a sight. The columns looked like marble. It was even grander than Greystoke Manor. And the windows didn’t show what was inside, but what looked like a scene from a picture book.

Emmy huffed. “Thank you. Now _please_ wait for us. Don’t leave me stranded like you did two months ago.”

“Wait,” Anna turned to Emmy. “Can’t he come with us?”

At this Emmy laughed. “Why on earth would he come with us? Chauffeurs are here to _drive_. The shop assistants take care of us inside.”

“Aw, come on Emmy,” Peter said in a teasing voice. “Can’t I?”

“I know you think this is funny, Peter.”

“He doesn’t have to be a chauffeur inside,” Anna said, thinking out loud. “He can be a –”

“A bodyguard?” Peter suggested.

Anna clapped her hands. “Yes!” She turned to her cousin. “He’s my bodyguard.”

“This is so unorthodox,” Emmy muttered.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to see inside Selfridges,” Peter said.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” Emmy said, folding her arms.

“Yeah, I am.”

-

The inside of the shop was just as grand. How the finely-dressed people gathered around counters, overflowing with pretty little objects. How the light danced off the crystal, which seemed to be everywhere.

Anna heard Peter whistle in astonishment. They exchanged a look of mutual disbelief. Emmy looked as if she had seen it all before – which she had, of course.

“Ah, Annabel Porter!” A dashing, well-dressed man with a moustache approached them. He sounded American (how was it that many of the people in England weren’t English at all?).

“Harry Gordon Selfridge,” he said, shaking Anna’s hand. “When I got word that a celebrity was coming to our store, well I had to come down and give you a proper Selfridges introduction.”

“Um, nice to meet you, sir,” Anna said.

“Please, call me Harry. And who are your companions?” He said, looking to Emmy and Peter.

Emmy cleared her throat. “Lady Emmy Waltham, charmed,” she said, holding out a delicate hand.

“ _Enchanté_ , my lady.”

“ _And_ ," Peter interjected, "Peter Jameson… bodyguard for Miss Porter.”

Anna noticed Emmy turn beet red at Peter's introduction. Mr. Selfridge raised an eyebrow before shrugging and shaking Peter’s hand.

“Now if you need anything at all, ask any of our shop assistants,” Mr. Selfridge said. “I would love nothing more than to see you make your society debut dressed in Selfridges, head-to-toe.”

He motioned with his hand, and a man with a camera came forward. Mr. Selfridge stood tall, as if posing for photographs was all he did. There was a flash, and the man with the camera was gone.

 _Was I supposed to smile?_ Anna thought. She wasn’t used to getting her photograph taken.

“Now, I have some store business to attend to,” Mr. Selfridge said. “But I do hope you’ll have lunch at the Palm Court this afternoon. It was a pleasure, Miss Porter, Lady Waltham, erm, Mister Jameson.”

Anna was left stunned as he walked away.

“How did he know I would be here?” she whispered to Emmy.

“One thing you need to learn is there are eyes everywhere,” Emmy said. “Someone at the Manor must have heard and let it slip.”

She said it as if it were nothing. Emmy began to walk, nodding her head for Anna and Peter to join her.

“Of course, Mr. Selfridge is all about the publicity. Good or bad. He’s a notorious philanderer, gambler, _American_ ,” she said, barely concealing her contempt at the last word. “And when he heard you were coming, well he can’t resist a chance to get in the paper. His daughter Rosalie made her debut recently, and it made headlines.”

Anna and Peter once again exchanged looks. Emmy seemed to know everything about everyone.

“He is quite a vulgar man, but he’s revolutionized shopping so credit where credit is due,” Emmy went on. “I hear the King send his servants here.”

Anna wished she could stop and look at the counters they were passing. They looked to be stocked with jewelry, hats, gloves and ribbons. _Mum would like it here_ , she thought. Each year Jane would jokingly ask for a new hat or a pair of gloves for her birthday, knowing it was impossible.

“Here we are,” Emmy said, coming to a stop.

A room full of dresses.

“I’m thinking dresses, then accessories,” she said. “Hats, gloves, et cetera.”

Anna marveled at the different colours on display. Her eyes immediately gravitated to a green dress. The hue reminded her of the leaves. She noticed Peter had already set himself down on a chaise.

She leaned over to Emmy. “I really like that green one,” she said excitedly.

“You know,” Emmy said. “I think green is your colour. With those eyes and all. Leave it all to me.”

She was liking Emmy more by the minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this a Mr. Selfridge crossover fic now? Maaaaaaaybe.


	13. Palm Court

If every room in Selfridges was more extravagant than the last, then the Palm Court must have been the last one. Stately columns and chandeliers, a ceiling of glass and – to Anna’s delight – palm trees. Small ones – Anna already knew the trees in England weren’t as big as they were at home.

The three of them sat down at an impeccably set table. Boxes and garment bags sat in the corner – all for Anna, save for a hat or two for Emmy. The sunlight – what a rare sight in London – streamed through the ceiling and danced off the marble.

“This place is beautiful,” Anna said.

Emmy wrinkled her nose. “It’s a little gauche. There’s only _so_ far new money goes.”

Anna furrowed her brow. “What’s ‘new money?’”

“Well,” Emmy started. “It’s … it means …” she trailed off.

“Oh my god,” Peter guffawed. “She’s actually speechless. This never happens!”

“I’m not speechless! It’s just hard to explain.”

Peter sighed. “’New money’ is what rich folk call people who are also rich, but haven’t been as rich for as long as them. They think being rich for a long time makes you better than everyone.”

“That’s not true!” Emmy protested. “But, you have to agree that old money is more… refined.”

“So, what does that make me?” Anna asked.

“Medium money?” Peter joked.

“Well, she is one of us,” Emmy said.

“Us?” Peter said.

“Well, not you,” Emmy corrected. “The Claytons.”

Anna winced at the name. She wasn’t sure she would ever be used to being a Clayton.

“But,” Emmy continued. “You have a _lot_ to prove. Succession law aside, this is not going to be easy. But I think we’ve made some progress today. The challenge will be acting the part and convincing people you were _not_ raised in a jungle.”

“I _was_ raised in a jungle,” Anna said. “I can’t change that!”

“We can make people forget for a moment. Consider this a test,” Emmy said, pointing to the teacup in front of Anna.

Anna looked at the pretty cup, filled to the brim with the pale liquid. “What do I do?”

“Don’t spill it, for one.”

“That seems impossible.”

“Nonsense. This is the easy part.”

Anna sighed and picked up the cup in her two hands.

“No,” Emmy said. “Oh, my goodness, _no_.”

“What?” Anna said, lowering the cup.

“Like this,” Emmy said, demonstrating how to properly use a teacup. She delicately hooked a finger into the handle and raised it, all without spilling a drop. “Simple.”

She _did_ make it look simple. Anna gripped her index finger to the handle and swiftly raised it in the air. Simple, indeed.

“ _Ahem_ ,” Emmy said, fixing her gaze at the tabletop. Spilled tea.

Anna took a defeated sip of tea. It wasn’t nearly as good as the coffee from the morning. She didn’t see what all the fuss over tea was about.

“You get tea where you’re from?” Peter asked.

“Sometimes,” Anna shrugged. “If the trading post is open. It’s Mum and Grandad who like it.”

“So, it’s you, your dad, your mom and… her dad?”

“Yeah. And Nana Kala, and Tula, Manek, Terk, I mean we’re all family.”

Emmy lowered her voice and leaned closer to Peter. “I think she’s talking about gorillas,” she said.

“Uh-huh, I gathered,” Peter said. “And you just, live with them?”

“Well no, I live in the treehouse,” Anna said. “Of course.”

“Oh, well obviously!”

“Come on,” Anna said. “Tell me about where you’re from. About Canada.”

“There’s not much to say about the North-West. The North-West Territories. Some people call it Saskatchewan. It’s big, it’s flat and there’s a lot of wheat. That’s where I grew up: a wheat farm.”

“Shocking,” Emmy said.

“We can’t all grow up in Greystoke Manor,” Peter said, putting on a posh accent.

“Well, it certainly has its perks,” Emmy said. “But I’d like to see _you_ spend your life being second to Clarissa.”

“I can think of a few worse things,” Peter said. “It was my dad’s farm, but he had a hard time selling the wheat. Nobody wanted to buy from us. We didn’t look like them, like the townfolk.”

Anna frowned. “I don’t understand why.”

“Well, start living in our world for a while and you’ll find out people do a lot of things that don’t make sense,” Peter said. “Ma used to say we should have never left Nova Scotia. There was a place for us there. It wasn’t great, but it was for us. Dad never listened. He just kept trying.”

“And how did you end up here?”

“I wanted to see the world,” Peter said. “I went back to Nova Scotia for a while. Then one day a ship was headed to England, needed some crewmembers. I thought, why not? Worked odd jobs in London once we landed, and now I’m having tea at the Palm Court with a would-be Countess.”

He outstretched his arms and placed his palms on the back of his head. “Not bad.”

Anna noticed the usually animated Emmy had grown withdrawn. She nudged her cousin, who was staring blankly into her cup of tea as if it held an answer to an unknown question. Peter seemed to notice this too.

“Emmy?” Anna asked, tapping her shoulder ( _gently_ , like a Lady).

“I am so stupid,” Emmy said quietly, still staring into her tea.

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it, as if deciding whatever retort he had for her wasn’t worth it.

“I can’t believe I forgot,” Emmy continued, looking up at her friends. “This is going to be… disastrous!”

Anna felt herself growing tense. “Emmy?”

Emmy grabbed for Anna’s sleeve. “Thomas. Is. Having. A. Party,” she said through gritted teeth. “And it’s in four days.”

Anna looked at her cousin blankly.

“And?”

“And _you’re_ supposed to attend!” She sighed and loosened her signature grip. “It’s for Thomas’ twenty-second birthday at Dartmoor Abbey. And I forgot all about it! Do you know how to dance? How to curtsy? We _know_ you don’t know how to sit for a dinner without making a scene!”

“Well, I have a new dress,” Anna offered.

“It’s not about the dress! It’s about you having your first real outing with everyone watching. And I mean _everyone_.”

Emmy made it sound like life or death.

“Peter, we need to go,” she said.

“What, now?” Anna asked. She had wanted to see Big Ben up close, or the museums Mum and Grandad would always carry on about.

“Yes, now,” Emmy said, frazzled. “This is serious!”

Everything was serious in London.


	14. Home

She still wasn’t used to this bed. Its plushness made her feel like it would swallow her whole. Pillows of gold and pink sat discarded in a corner of the room. Anna tried in vain to mimic her bed at home – a single pillow, a single sheet. But the mattress was no substitute for a hammock.

Just days ago, she thought her makeshift bed on the ship was the most uncomfortable sleep she’d experience. Now, she thought, she wouldn’t mind going back to her hastily-prepared private room in what was supposed to be the brig. After several days – exactly how many, she hadn’t a clue – she grew used to the sway of the water under her. It wasn’t ideal, but it was tolerable.

She wasn’t sure if she could tolerate this.

Anna tried to imagine she was back in her home. She thought of the nights she would lie facing the tiny window in the loft, straining to feel the breeze from the ocean on her face. Sometimes she would drift into sleep effortlessly. Other nights she would lie awake, paralyzed by her memories.

She absentmindedly traced her fingers over her midsection. Her new silk nightgown clung to her. No matter what she wore, she could still feel the scars under her clothes. Three raised parallel lines that were almost too neat and clean to have ever been a wound. There was still a tightness, a numbness there. One day she had asked her father if the feeling would ever come back. He had his own scars, the same raised white marks on his arm and chest that contrasted against his tan skin.

“Maybe never,” he said.

She didn’t know why that scared her so much.

Her new bedroom was full of her new things. Everything was so new. New boxes filled with new shoes and hats, new dresses hanging in her new closet.

_Do these people know that I used to wear old curtains for dresses?_

Emmy said looking the part would be the easiest. How could she fit in? This was her family now, but nobody acted like it.

“Family is who you love,” was the repeated refrain of her parents.

If that was really true, then the Claytons weren’t family. How could she integrate into this place when she grew up with “Clayton” as another word for “unforgivable.”

But then she thought of Emmy, who _was_ kind. Sharp, but kind. Or the Earl, her great-grandfather, who looked like he had memories of Alice that nobody else in the family did.

And her grandparents. Was Alice kind? Was John like her own father?

There were secrets in this house. She wanted to know them.

She sank further into the mattress. She wished she had asked her mother more questions about England. She wished her mother could be here now and teach her how to be. Have her write it down and keep it close.

She was surrounded by more people than ever. Yet for the first time she felt truly alone.


	15. Waltz

“Do you know why I’ve brought you here today?”

The three of them were standing in the music room. Anna ran her hand along the walls – beautiful wood panels with delicate carvings. She thought if she really studied them, they would reveal a story. It looked like an epic tale, one of heroes and angels. Everyone in England was in such a hurry. How nice it was to just _be_ , in this small palace of mahogany and gold leaf.

“Anna!” Emmy snapped, pulling Anna back from the mythmaking. “Did you hear me?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Emmy buried her face in her hands, murmuring to herself. Anna could make out a muffled “hopeless.”

“Actually,” Peter interjected. “Why _am_ I here?”

“Look,” Emmy came back up for air. “Thomas’ party is in three days and I need all the help I can get.”

She turned her attention back to Anna.

“You have to endear yourself to the crowd. Entertain them, delight them, charm them. Can you sing?”

“No.”

“Can you play an instrument. Piano, harp, flute even?”

“No.” Anna paused. “But I can do bird calls.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I can climb,” Anna offered.

“Okay, that is definitely not what I meant.”

“Hey,” Peter said, motioning to his right. “Could you climb that?”

He pointed at the grand window festooned with gold drapes.

“The curtains?” Anna said, contorting her body so she could get a better look at how high they really were. “Yeah, I could probably do that. You want me to try?”

“Definitel—”

“No.” Emmy interjected. “You need to learn how to dance. Lavinia will almost certainly put Thomas up to dance with you and she’s banking on you making a complete fool of yourself. Luckily, I – well, _we_ – are a step ahead.”

Emmy clapped her hands twice. “Peter,” she said, motioning to the phonograph on the table behind her. “Be a dear and start the music.”

“That can’t be the only reason I’m here,” he said.

“Of course not. I also need a partner to demonstrate with.”

The familiar crackling of the phonograph buzzed in Anna’s ear, and gave way to a slow string quartet.

“Anna, do you know anything about the waltz?”

“That’s the slow one, right?”

“Yes. And it’s all we have time for. If you get asked to dance the polka or a galop just lie and say your ankle hurts. Only dance the waltz.”

Emmy straightened her already pin-like posture and brought her arms out like delicate wings.

“Your elbow needs to keep a straight line to your shoulder, but the elbow must be lower than the shoulder and – Peter, I need you.”

“Right here,” he said, appearing at her side.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Emmy sighed. “But I need you to put your hand in mine, and you other hand on my waist. It goes right in left, left in right.”

“I know,” Peter said nonchalantly.

“You _know_? How to waltz?”

“Sure,” he said.

“Surely you’re joking.”

“No. Took lessons at Melfort Baptist Church. Well, the basement at Melfort Baptist.”

“You’re _un_ believable,” Emmy momentarily closed her eyes before bringing herself back. “Anna are you watching? Your back needs to be curved, only slightly. And you have to let him lead. When he steps back with his left foot, you step forward with your right. Then left, then close. One, two, three, one two three.”

Anna watched as the pair made their way around the room. It looked so natural. She studied the curvature of Emmy’s spine, the way she and Peter moved without looking at their feet. In fact, they made it look easy.

-

_She hated him. All this time, she had been sure of that. That she was Emmy Waltham, her father was Lord Robert Waltham and she hated Mister Jameson. But now, she wasn’t sure at all._

_She still hated how he acted. How he could lean back in his chair at the Palm Court, like it was his personal tea room. The numerous times he lost track of time and forgot to pick her up, leaving her stranded on Fleet Street. How she was pretty sure he told the rest of the staff about the time she had too much champagne at Lady Violet Orwood’s coming out ball._

_She was loathe to admit she was ever wrong. And yet she was wrong. She assumed a man of his standing would have no idea how to waltz. Of course, he was far from the best dance partner she’d had. His footwork was sloppy, he led with his arms and not his body. Then again, he wasn’t as bad as Alastair Crepston (now that was dreadful)._

_What else was he hiding?_

_“You’ve surprised me,” she said as they moved about the room._

_“Have I? And I thought nothing got past you.”_

_“I mean it.”_

_She felt electricity running through her. This certainly didn’t happen with Alastair Crepston._

_No. It was all wrong. Girls like Emmy were not supposed to feel this way. Not about men like Peter. She took a deep breath. The feeling was gone. She prided herself on her ability to suppress undesirable feelings. Loneliness. Longing. Whatever this was._

_They had stopped moving now. Her hand still in his. His hand still on her waist._

_“The music’s stopped,” he said._

_“I knew that.”_

-

“Don’t look at your feet,” Emmy said from the other end of the room as Anna tried to replicate what she and Peter had just done.

“Sorry if I’m stepping on you,” Anna said to her dance partner.

“You’re not that bad,” Peter said. “For a newbie. You have to let me lead though.”

She didn’t respond. She had to focus. _Right, left, close. One, two, three._ Let him lead. Try to surrender.

“And turn!” Emmy shouted.

“Which way?” Anna whispered.

“Right,” Peter said, leading her into a turn. “Better. You let your guard down that time.”

This work didn’t come naturally to her. When she slinked through the vines and slid down the trees she could move freely and with abandon. This was so rigid, disciplined. She could feel herself pushing back against Peter’s lead. _Let go_ , she instructed herself.

“I’m trying,” she said.

“I know. You’ll get there.”


End file.
